A reply stuck in Laszlo's throat as the door pulled shut, but he could think of nothing before it latched and Ambrose disappeared. Left alone in his room, Laszlo heaved a sigh at the pervading silence that followed, reaching behind his neck and scratching the back of his head. Maybe he'd been a little harsh, now that he swam in the aftertaste of the semi-heated discussion. He did feel a little guilty, of course, but he'd needed to be stern to get Ambrose to leave. The Ethaefal's brewing frustrations had gotten the better of him, and the best treatment for that was privacy, time alone to sort his thoughts and tuck them safely away again in little compartments where he could forget about them.
Ambrose really had made Laszlo feel much better, and took his mind off things. More than that, it had felt incredible to be taken by a pair of arms, surrounded by warm acceptance and love—or at least a fleeting substitute of love. Just letting go, relaxing, and letting the ecstasy take over was… it had left him literally breathless, and somehow feeling closer to his goddess. It was all in his head, of course; these earthly wants and cares could not take the place of true peace and paradise, but at the time, he didn't have to care, or think about it. He didn't have to think at all.
Once it was all over, however… Laszlo was back to his usual self: polite, cold, and perhaps a little self-absorbed. There was little room in his daily life for another person, who couldn't even begin to understand who and what he was, anyway.
Laszlo threw the trunk's lid down with a slam. And what was wrong with that? Being the way he was? This world wasn't his. He didn't have to 'be' anything. All he cared about was surviving, making it to the next day, and feeling the sunlight on his face.
Walking around the side of the bed, he grabbed for his boots, discarded in last night's excitement. As he laced one, his weary amber eyes slipped upward at the closed door. After pressing his lips into an uneasy line, he sighed again.
Sorry, Ambrose. Maybe tomorrow.
Ambrose really had made Laszlo feel much better, and took his mind off things. More than that, it had felt incredible to be taken by a pair of arms, surrounded by warm acceptance and love—or at least a fleeting substitute of love. Just letting go, relaxing, and letting the ecstasy take over was… it had left him literally breathless, and somehow feeling closer to his goddess. It was all in his head, of course; these earthly wants and cares could not take the place of true peace and paradise, but at the time, he didn't have to care, or think about it. He didn't have to think at all.
Once it was all over, however… Laszlo was back to his usual self: polite, cold, and perhaps a little self-absorbed. There was little room in his daily life for another person, who couldn't even begin to understand who and what he was, anyway.
Laszlo threw the trunk's lid down with a slam. And what was wrong with that? Being the way he was? This world wasn't his. He didn't have to 'be' anything. All he cared about was surviving, making it to the next day, and feeling the sunlight on his face.
Walking around the side of the bed, he grabbed for his boots, discarded in last night's excitement. As he laced one, his weary amber eyes slipped upward at the closed door. After pressing his lips into an uneasy line, he sighed again.
Sorry, Ambrose. Maybe tomorrow.
